Exhaustion is a Ten Letter Word
by Gypsy Feet
Summary: In the soft light the waves of hair that have escaped her ponytail are glowing. The rest of her isn’t she’s always between a study of light and dark. xOneshotx


**Exhaustion is a Ten Letter Word**

**By: **Emmy

**Disclaimer: **don't own.

**Spoilers: **None.

**Summary: **In the soft light the waves of hair that have escaped her ponytail are glowing. The rest of her isn't (_she's always between a study of light and dark_). xOneshotx

**A/N: **This is painfully short. For that I am sorry. I hope it isn't too bad though. Anyway. Have a good one.

II

_020. and say goodbye to the last parade,  
and walk away from the choice you made_

II

She's standing at the window when you walk in. Right in front of it. Fingers brushing timidly against the cool of the glass. By the angle of her head you're nearly certain that she's resting her forehead on the glass. You know her breath clouds on the glass (_you wish you could claim it all for yourself_).

She turns at the dull beat of your cane on the floor. Only her head. Until her cheekbone is replacing her forehead in its duty. Her acknowledgement is a sigh. A rush of breath dancing past her lips. Her fingers curl slightly.

You stand still. Wince at the awkwardness. Play Mary had a Little Lamb on your cane. When she makes no attempt to break the silence you sit down. The touch of the leather a comfort. You wait.

She twists her body around. Leaning her back and head against the window now. In the soft light the waves of hair that have escaped her ponytail are glowing. The rest of her isn't (_she's always between a study of light and dark_). The skin beneath her eyes is painted a tired shade of violet. She wraps her arms around herself and your mind screams _clench_.

This is exhaustion. And it's beginning to define you. It's creeping into every moment you spend with her. Sometimes it curls in your leg. Sometimes it sits in her eyes. You're both tired. And you can't stop this.

Everything is set in motion and all that you can do is watch.

You hate it (_there's no control_). There was a line that you promised not to cross. You curved it to your will. It was a rule that you manipulated. You liked the power of control. So you twisted it. You didn't dare cross it. But the fucking curve of a secret on her lips pushed you over. And now –

"She's stable."

_Oh,_ you think. And then you nod. She doesn't say anything else. Stands there and smooths her skirt. She leaves her hands on her thighs and all you can think is _fuck._ You pick up your juggling ball and roll it in your hands. It came in a set of three. You just lost one. The other was thrown at Wilson. It isn't your fault that he ducked and it hit Cuddy. And, being the power obsessed bitch she is, she _confiscated_ it. Fucking bitch.

_No,_ you correct yourself,_ Fucking Bitch who's fucking Wilson._

You laugh then. Because it's not funny (_according to Wilson_). There's only so much you can prove. You have your suspicions. He hasn't admitted to any sort of relationship other then friendship. But he's been _busy_ on two Thursday nights in three weeks. He's _never_ busy on _Thursday _nights.

She doesn't ask what's so funny. Instead she leaves the window and drifts towards you. She sits herself down on the floor, a little way from your feet. A hand floats up and drags a lock of hair behind her left ear. Her legs are crossed and her skirt's ridden up her legs a little. You can see the skin of her thigh and you know, _know,_ that this is obsession.

Maybe it always has been.

"What would you give to get him back?"

_Stupid,_ your mind screams as hurt flickers in eyes. She turns her face away. You slide your eyes down the length of her neck. You don't think about how it would taste or, _fuck._ This wasn't supposed to happen.

You need to get away from this (_her_).

"Coffee."

You're startled by an answer and by the almost warmth in her voice. She's trying to smile and pretending to be brave. She doesn't meet your eyes for long and it hits you (_steals your breath with its force_) that you just saw _Allison._

It's the classification that your mind automatically divides her into. Professional and polite and sweet, dear Cameron. And then there's Allison. Angry Allison, sad Allison, smiling Allison, teasing Allison. Cameron is smooth lines and circles. Allison is stars and parts of a puzzle you can't figure out.

It's Cameron that diagnoses and understands and does her best to be a good doctor. It's Allison that hugs patients and laughs and does her best to be a good person.

It's Allison that you don't understand.

It's Allison that's got you caught.

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_.end._

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End file.
